


to watch a watchman

by zimskivojnik



Series: watchman verse [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Buckle up, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky is more Winter Soldier than anything tbh, Falling In Love, Fix-It of Sorts, Guilt, Insomnia, M/M, Nightmares, Pining, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, e n j o y, haha im funny, mentions of thorbruce, this is very loosely based on his actual canonical past and i have no fucks left to give, tony's family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2018-09-26
Packaged: 2019-06-29 08:13:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15725469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zimskivojnik/pseuds/zimskivojnik
Summary: Over the span of seventy years, Bucky had met many willing to die out of guilt. He was now for the first time in his life, looking at a man who was living out of it.__post civil war, bucky gets to meet tony and decide on his own whether he's as bad as his Rogue friends insist he is.





	1. of trust we can't afford

**Author's Note:**

> a lil multi-chapter unbetad story i wanted to write, cause why the heck not? title can be read both ways, cause duality is in buckys nature and this story is from his pov - me, trying for a clever story, everyone :D
> 
> not wendy friendly. kinda fix-it for the rest.

The man standing before him bore little resemblance to the one they left behind in Siberia - in another life, Bucky would’ve done anything to make the man his own, but here he had no right to do so - and with a pang of guilt and expecting nothing but hostility, Bucky decided to talk. 

“I want to apologize.”

Tony lost a bit of his composure then, a split-second and barely noticable to an untrained eye, but his training was a bit of an overkill, really. It had its merits, he could say that now without the fear of being triggered to kill and destroy and rip apart - princess Shuri was not head of technology development at 17 for no reason. 

She was also considerate enough to tell him that Tony’s B.A.R.F. technology was what she used and _improved greatly to fit your particular case, so you don’t go wilding whenever someone winds you up_ and Bucky held nothing but deep gratitude to the genius princess and her kind brother, who happened to be the king of Wakanda and a good ally to have. 

Tony was long overdue some closure, though, and Bucky knew he was indebted to the man for not killing him on the spot a year ago, if nothing else. Bucky did his part in redeeming himself although Stevie and Barton insisted he was not to blame, it still felt easier to stand straight after making amends with the people he took their loved ones from, that were alive still, that is. 

He left Stark for last. It seemed fitting, and just in time, as he’d only finished his crusade of redemption a month back, and this felt like stepping forward to the execution he deserved, from the man he took everything from, even if it was unwillingly. And if Tony was going to use this as revenge, as a way of calling to the oldest law - eye for an eye, so be it. 

Bucky was more than willing to die. 

Tony was staring at him, all the calculations happening right before Bucky’s eyes and incredibly fast, his face again a blank one as he prompted Bucky to continue with an arched eyebrow. 

“I know I’ve no grounds to do this, no right to ask of you to forgive me, but you deserve at least to know that I am sorry, truly, for all I’ve done, to you. For all I’ve taken from you, even though you never did anything to me to deserve such thing, so now I’m here and ready to comply to whatever fate you have in store for your parents murderer.”

He stilled at the end of the impromptu speech, eyes glued to the white marble floor of the Compound as he waited, breathlessly, to hear his verdict. 

“That’s. Wow. How did you get that whole thing out in one breath? Did you practice it? I-” but he stopped with the teasing as soon as Bucky looked up, his expression probably as pained as he felt to be not taken seriously, now, with his soul an open book in front of a man he barely knew but did so much harm to, and maybe this was Tony’s revenge. He deserved all of it. 

“I have nothing to forgive you, James. I hoped my joking attitude would make that point as clear as day - and if you rat me out on this I will skin you alive - but Rogers is right. It’s not your fault, never was. I lashed out back then, I’m sorry.” Tony winced by the end of it, staring at Bucky’s shoulder with an unreadable expression on his face. 

Bucky knew he probably mirrored it, because what just happened?

“You- what? I killed- Stark, no- I killed your parents and I almost killed you in that Bunker, you blew this off in self defense, why are you- you don’t get to apologize to me!” 

His level-headed manner from moments ago made way for the most incredulous expression he could conjure. 

Tony held his gaze with a hint of amusement in his eyes, patiently waiting for Bucky to just - breathe. In. Out. 

Out of all the possible outcomes he tortured himself with, this was the most unexpected of them all. 

“We could stand here all day and indulge our self-deprecating tendencies, or I could just show you the arm I made for you? Y’know, to replace the one I blew off. And again, sorry about that,” he trailed off, looking sheepish as he pressed his thumb against the biometric lock near the double glass door. 

Bucky was frozen in place for a few more seconds, deciding to just head inside and hoping that this was some sort of trap, to lure Bucky in and make sure he cannot escape the painful death Stark cooked up for him. 

Despite all his instincts blaring red at him to not turn his back to the potential threat, he stepped foot inside the large clustered room and waited-

for nothing. At all. No strike to the head or his knees, no poisonous gas, no weapon drawn at him, just Tony, walking over to the nearest work table casually, as if HYDRA’s most efficient ex-assassin wasn’t standing mere meters away, unsupervised and unbound. 

“So, what do you think?” Tony asked in a gleeful voice, that glint ever present in his eyes as he looked for Bucky’s reaction to his objectively messy workspace slash lab. 

“Uh. Neat?” he offered, decidedly playing into whatever the hell this friendliness was, wary that the other shoe will drop and readying himself to peacefully accept it. 

Tony laughed a little, staring at a nearby camera that Bucky noticed the moment he walked inside, wagging his finger at it. 

“A-ah, you little devil, show our guest some good manners and hospitality,” he said, chiding the device as if it were alive. 

“I don’t recall said values being written into my coding, Sir,” the voice came from the ceiling somewhere and - what? Who was Tony talking to? Head of security? 

“Fri, don’t embarrass your boss further, I’m sure our pal would love to see what I’m working with here.”

Was he always this condescending with his employees? Barton’s words made their way into Bucky’s mind again, his endless rants about Stark and how utterly rotten he was. 

He didn’t spare the words further thought - now, everything around him had a light blue sheen - every wall and tool and surface, giving flashy readings and specifications and with a swift movement of Tony’s left hand, a few holographic projections popped up from various worktables, the one Tony was leaning against showing a metal arm design. 

“Hey, you okay? Didn’t mean to overwhelm you there, buddy, I’m so sorry, Fri-” 

“No. No, this is just, incredible, Stark,” Bucky croaked out, pushing back the high alert instinct to _run_ , looking around in awe as the walls shone in familiar-looking math equations. 

His head started hurting from the large intake of information of his surroundings, there was too many twitches and changes and danger alerts that made his ears ring and Stark must’ve noticed his discomfort because with a snap of his fingers - literally - the room was back to how it was before the guard turned it on.

Bucky took a moment or two to regain his composure, before suspiciously tracing his fingers over the nearby wall. 

“How did you-” 

“FRIDAY. The, uh, AI I created, runs this whole building, helps me control the suits. She has everything from the camera feed, audio surveillance, but for security purposes only. She only informs me if a real threat is in question,” Tony says, motioning for him to sit down on a worn-out black sofa, which he did. 

“That’s fascinating, Stark.” Bucky said, because it was, and now he was wondering why in the world was Tony trusting him not to use this information against him. 

Tony shrugged at the praise, suddenly looking like he did when Bucky thanked him - unable to respond, or not used to, this time to praise. 

Huh. 

“She usually doesn't talk back, but you can ask her anything - location of someone in the Compound, to turn up the AC, put on music, commence blackout in your room, deliver messages - anything. Just, ask Fri.”

“I will remember that. Thanks, Stark.”

“And, uh, the arm - I’ll send you the designs, so you can think on that, and let me know if you want me to make it for you, whenever you’re ready. That’s, yeah. That’s about it. I’ll see you around, James.”

“See ya, Stark.”

Bucky noticed the flinch at the last name that he shook off visibly before he left the workshop in a hurry, his shoulders a tense line beneath the thin shirt. 

Tony, against all logic, left him alone in his private workshop, with all the weapons he’d made at an arm's reach of a trained and skilled killing machine. 

Bucky wasn't used to this amount of trust, given so thoughtlessly to him, not when Steve was still wary when talking to him and everyone else was nervous to have him around the kitchen, where all the knives were. As if Bucky needed any weapons to kill-

But Tony just let him in, and left him there, with surveillance of course but still not enough to sustain the famed Winter Soldier if he wished to paint the floors in blood red, and Tony knew that, had to know that, so what was all this? 

Bucky stepped foot into his workshop with a death wish, and left it knowing that Tony probably wasn’t far from that mentality either. 

The man was questionable at best, in everything he said and did that day, and it kept Bucky up late that night. For the life of him, he couldn't find the common denominator for everything Stark displayed earlier, and it would drive him crazy certainly, his analytical nature taking over. 

He'd get to the bottom of it, though. Sneaking behind enemy lines to gather intel was his whole thing anyways.


	2. of allies and how little faith he had in them

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as i said, updates every other day. i like this story so far and i'll try not to abandon it if you guys decide you like it too
> 
> enjoy!

Large, open spaces were not what he expected to be thrust in after hiding away in exile for a year. They were ex-fugitives and really nowhere near being able to afford the housing they found themselves in, and Bucky seemed to be the only one on edge about the whole ordeal. 

It had to do with him being in the Avengers Compound for the first time, as the rest of them were familiar with the place and their old living arrangements, and somehow they forgot that they were living under constant surveillance of the man who they never made amends with since their fallout last year. It’s not that Bucky didn't trust that Tony wasn't listening in on their conversations (sometimes he was relieved he didn’t, fearing that all the insults and bad mouthing of the guy that ran the whole thing would result in them getting kicked out and forced to fend for themselves), it was just the constant presence of something unknown to him that had the ability to lock everyone out and bound him to his room that, according to their enigmatic host, could turn into a top security prison cell in a matter of seconds. Which was a good feature to have at disposal, Bucky had to admit, with the Hulk and the Winter Soldier living in them, though he didn't think Tony was thinking of his own safety when he made those secured rooms (and he couldn’t tell where the hell that thought came from, or why he agreed with it).

Bucky had been grateful, for the most part, for the knowledge that any attack could be contained on the outside of the bright walls and a row of floor-to-ceiling windows across from his bed, but the sheer spaciousness of his new living space kept him on his toes - courtesy of his training, really.

The moment he entered his room when they arrived to the compound, he locked himself in and scoped out every inch of the place that might as well be called an apartment - it was more than Bucky remembered ever having. It had a small, well-furnished kitchen to the left of the entrance, secluded by a wall that partially blocked out the view of his new king-sized bed, placed tastefully against the wall in the middle of the room. The light gray rug felt heavenly soft underneath his bare feet, covering every inch of the marble floor below it except for the tiled kitchen and bathroom, both in swirling patterns of grey. It had a shower and a hot tub and a large mirror he refused to look at still, and every cupboard and closet was stocked with things he wouldn't even remember to ask for but knew he needed them. His attention was finally drawn to the shelves fixed against the wall, with used books held together by weighted Iron Man figurines. He snorted despite himself.

Neat. 

There was a retractable table hidden in the wall underneath them, and a heap of tech he barely recognized piled underneath. He picked up a sleek black phone assigned to him, not bothering to contain his excitement over new, shiny tech of the time he thought he’d never live to see. 

He pressed his thumb to the black surface instinctively, having it turn on a second later with that same blue sheen turning the smooth surface interactive. 

He opened a few messages, a group chat that Clint already made and named _Stark, if you’re reading this - Fuck You_ and Bucky didn't miss the irony of it all, deciding not to read the same old rants and opening Stark’s message instead. 

_“here’s the design. deadline for your decision is carte blanche. ask whatever. - T. S. “_

Seeing his potential new arm in the air answered positively some of his questions about it, and some he already figured out - the arm was seemingly based on his old one, with the synapses tied to the hardware the way they used to be, but allowing somehow for his healing factor to grow his arm around the metal. Stark might actually be a one of a kind genius, Bucky thought, letting the holographic projection list every component and the material they were made up of. 

Vibranium. Silicon alloys. Kevlar. Nanites, which were a new thing, and frankly a bit worrying. He debated whether to ask Stark about it or to accept Stevie’s invitation for sparring, which should’ve been an obvious choice. 

_”He’s been manipulating people for a living all his life. Don't forget that, Soldat,” Barton snarled after the first and only time Bucky expressed his willingness to befriend the man._

_Stevie looked at him, all concerned and pouty, and Bucky let it go. They were Stark’s team mates for years, and he trusted Stevie’s judgement of character. Stark was a lost cause._

Now, he wasn't so sure of Steve’s self-assured verdicts, as the man went back on everything he fought against last year, and now signed the same document that threw them head first into this mess a year ago. 

The gym was still empty when he got there, so he did one-armed push-ups without noticing someone else was in the room with him, until soft footsteps were padding their way towards the floor mats. 

“Show off,” the voice muttered, and Bucky looked up, biting his bottom lip to stop himself from smiling. Stark was conceited enough already, he didn't need to know he had a good sense of humor as well. 

“What are you doing here?” Bucky asked stupidly, cause this was, after all, Stark’s building, even though this gym was clearly built for the Rogues to seclude them from everyone else. 

 

“I came here to check if the traps are all in place still. Don’t tell Barton, but his mat is made out of glass wool. And yours is doused in ‘Tony Stark Love Potion’, soon enough I’ll brainwash you to like me,” Tony deadpanned, clearly aware of the motive behind Bucky’s question. He started making his way out of the room when Bucky called after him, watching Tony’s face in the studio mirror. 

“You spying on us, Stark?” 

Tony smirked, though something unfamiliar flashed in his eyes, again at the last name, or Bucky’s tone when saying it. 

“No, but thanks for being a pal and telling me yourself,” and he left without looking back, which was good, cause Bucky fell for an obvious bluff and all it took was Stark staring at him to throw his training out the window. 

He huffed, staring at himself in the large mirror, wondering why it felt so wrong to let himself despise the man. Slipping up like this was okay until the rest of the guys saw him do it, as they already were suspicious of Bucky after his solo visit to the West Wing and Stark’s workshop. He didn’t want to lose the little allies he had left, not when the “enemy” made Bucky look like a trainee rather than experienced agent. 

Steve and Natasha found him doing push-ups, music blaring from speakers hidden in walls as he pushed himself to break his record of a thousand one-armed push-ups without breaks. 

He purposely didn’t react to them calling his name, and even though he knew he had only himself to blame, Bucky still got pissed when Natasha pushed him over and ruined his streak. 

“Why the fuck did you do that?” 

“We saw Stark leave East Wing. Alone. Did he come here for you?” Natasha asked coolly, unphased by his uncharacteristic outburst. 

Of course it was about Stark, everything they talked about was Stark and Bucky was re-thinking his reluctance to cut ties with all his allies and just live alone. 

“No. He was in the gym, left as soon as I came.”

“Did he talk to you?” Steve asked in an attempt to sound nonchalant, though Bucky could see his knuckles turning white from how hard he was clenching his fists. 

“Yeah. Asked him why he came here. He joked about it and left,” Bucky said flatly, avoiding to mention the part where he gave away the intel. Now, he was convinced he did it on purpose, to see if Stark would somehow force them all to change the subject cause by God he was sick and tired of hearing about his life every damn day. 

“Of course he did,” Steve said, shaking his head in disapproval, “hasn’t changed one bit.”

Neither have you, Bucky wanted to say, but at the same time he felt too tired to think about that.

“Don’t know. Never knew him.”

“Trust me, you’re better off that way,” Steve sighed, getting up to rid himself from his pent-up frustration by ripping apart some punching bags. 

Natasha just stared at him, obviously dying to ask him something, but she opted out. 

Which was better, cause all Bucky could think of now were Steve’s words, added to the pile of _showing lack of trust in Bucky’s ability to decide for his damn self_. That in itself was more annoying than anything he found out about Stark on his extensive online research of the man. 

All Steve wanted was to lock Bucky away and keep him safe and unchanged from what Steve expected him to be. All he actually did, was make Bucky more determined to find out what the hell made Stark, the man who apologized for attacking his parents’ killer, look so despicable in his best friend’s eyes. 

 

~

The common room wasn’t his favorite location, that he realized on the first day and it didn't come as a surprise, as all they ever did was moan about being pushed into signing the Accords, about Stark being a villain, about the people that criticized the band of now ex-fugitives being brainwashed by his shiny appearance into siding with him, and most importantly, how all that would end the moment a threat comes and the man in a can needs their help. 

_That’s one hell of a can, then, if its able to endure the shift from Earth’s air pressure to the vacuum of space in mere seconds._ Maybe they were all just bitter. Or maybe Bucky was giving all this more thought than it deserved. 

“What’s up, Soldier?” called a sweet voice from behind him, and he cursed inwardly for letting himself wander off in an unsafe place. 

“What do you want, witch?” he spat back, uncaring of how venomous his voice sounded when Steve wasn't around to scold him for it. 

“Nothing, just overheard that you’re being buddy-buddy with my parents killer,” she fired back, anger coloring her eyes red. Although he wished it were true because it would've at least explained why Stark forgave _him_ so easily, he knew the witch wasn’t being honest with herself. Stark’s tech killed her parents, without him ever knowing or intending to do so. She was just blinded with hatred, and nothing was as toxic and terrifying as misplaced rage, Bucky lived long enough to learn that. She was bound to blow up in their faces, and Steve seemed blind to it, falling for her innocent display. And on top of all of that, she was HYDRA, and caused one of the major fights that Steve and Bucky had during their time in Wakanda. He couldn't bring himself to eat for days after Steve had the nerve to say _I forgave her, Buck_ to his face. 

_She never fucking apologized, Stevie._ She played naive whenever her newest guardian was nearby, but she took every other chance to show Bucky just how much more Steve cared for her.

God, he fucking hated that witch. 

“And I killed _his_ parents, shouldn't you be kissing my ass or something?” he retorted, ignoring the instinct to get the fuck away from that crazy little-

“You apologized for it.” She said in an innocent voice, smiling at him pointedly. 

Bucky felt his blood freeze in his veins, a cold shiver running up his spine as he realized finally what she was implying. 

“You fucking went inside my head again?” he asked, somehow managing to keep the panic that threatened to choke him up out of his voice. Her face turned innocent again as she picked up her book and calmly flipped over a page. 

Before he could lunge at her he registered Steve’s heavy footsteps approaching the door, and he suddenly realized he was about to faint. 

This already happened once, and Steve took her side despite Natasha being on his. 

Bucky got up and rushed out of the room, pushing past a confused Steve as he messaged Stark back. 

_“where are you?”_

He ignored the rest of the messages after he read the first one. 

_“workshop”_  
_“why”_  
_“you coming to assassinate me?”_  
_“james?”_

~

Stark looked worried out of all things, Bucky thought, and it helped ground him a little - his constant internal turmoil caused by Tony Stark’s mysterious ministrations. 

Stark stopped trying to get him to speak, something akin to realization visible on his face as he kneeled slowly next to Bucky and extended his hand. 

Bucky forgot he was still unable to breathe properly due to utter perplexity. 

“Just, give me your hand, James,” Stark said softly, and let out a little chuckle when Bucky kept staring at him confusedly. 

“Come on, what’s taking you so long? It’s not like you have many arms to choose from,” Stark teased, making Bucky snort as he finally gave into the need to find out what the fuck Stark had in mind. 

He placed Bucky’s palm flat against his own chest, slowly rubbing his thumb over the back of Bucky's hand as he breathed in slowly, then exhaled. 

It took a second more and black spots flashing in the corners of his vision for Bucky to realize he was holding his damn breath. 

It took a bit more than that to breathe normally again, and before he could even ask, Stark slowly placed Bucky’s hand back on the floor and got up. 

“So?” 

Bucky blinked at him, once, twice, before cocking his head to the side. 

“What?” he asked, voice still raspy. Tony chuckled again, and it was different (and less annoying then when Clint laughed at his confusion over obvious things).

“You gonna tell me what triggered your panic attack in the middle of the safest building in the world, or?”

That, Bucky knew, wasn’t overestimated, and it’s one of the few things that allowed him to sleep at night, however little hours he managed to get. The building looked regular enough from the outside, though it had EMP’s and laser guided missiles always ready to eliminate whatever threats may come their way. Add onto it the incantations that protected the entire thing (and Stark, apparently) from unwanted sorcery, which were the reason why Bucky wanted to come here in the first place, and he found Stark’s statement truthful, instead of boastful or annoyingly self-assured as the rest of them probably would. 

Bucky weighed his options. He turned to Stark for help because he guessed Stark would have some way to counter the witch’s powers, or so logic told him. He did have his mind toyed with by her, Bucky knew that much, and maybe he’d take pity on Bucky over their shared experience with Devil’s little monster. 

“The witch,” Bucky began, realizing how raw his voice still was from the fear nestled in his throat still. 

“What about her?” Stark asked, his voice colder than before, as he focused on Bucky’s eyes. 

“She did it again. Went inside my head. Read my mind. I don’t- Steve doesn't listen, and I can’t-” _have anyone fucking with it again_ , he bit his tongue to stop the confession of weakness he felt around her from coming out. She told him she could put the triggers back in place, and even though he wasn’t sure she could do it, he was still terrified of anyone having access to his already scrambled mind. 

He felt like he betrayed Steve by confessing to Stark how impassive he was about the issue, and he half-expected to have to defend him from Stark’s criticism, but he was left dumbfounded yet again. 

Because Stark only sighed, barely audible but loud in Bucky’s ears, before he got up and made a call. 

“How’s my second favorite doctor doing on this fine afternoon?” he chirped after a few seconds, eyes trained on Bucky’s face. 

“Yeah? Well, I have a favor to ask of you. I know you’ll love it, and I promise I’ll listen to your rant about power in wrong hands this time, cause it kinda has everything to do with your favorite crimson nutcase-” and before Tony could finish the sentence, a bright circle of orange light materialized on the other side of the room and as Tony held Bucky’s gaze, he could hear footsteps echoing off of the stone floor. 

“Mr. Barnes, meet Dr. Strange. Dr. Strange, he didn't laugh at your last name so you gotta help him now,” Stark teased again, as if Bucky wasn't about to jump out of his skin. 

Another witch or wizard wasn't what he needed now.

Stark seemed to have a sixth sense for people's discomfort, cause all his attention was back on Bucky again as he sat on the floor next to him. 

“Look, I know magic is the last thing you want in your life, trust me, I had the same reaction, but Stephen’s a good guy, kinda has to be, you know, and he’s more powerful than our resident brat. He, uh, magic-proofed this place, and me, so yeah, I’ll leave you two to figure it out,” he finished, reaching out to Bucky as if he was going to pat his shoulder, but then opted out last second. 

“If you need anything or he’s being a sarcastic ass, call me,” Stark half-joked, the door shutting automatically behind him as he walked away. 

Bucky turned towards Dr. Strange only when he lost Stark from his sight, scowling when he realized what the man’s smug smile implied. 

“What?” 

“A topic for another day. Are you feeling faint? Do your lungs feel like they're on fire? Do you think you can get up on your own?”

Bucky blinked at him, the surge of questions unexpected, yet a welcome change from the thoughts that the Other guy put in his head as he watched Stark walk away. 

His ass did look tempting.

“Mr. Barnes?” 

“It’s Bucky. Sorry. I’m good now, thanks. Stark mentioned that you helped him with keeping the witch out of his mind, and I would like to know how.”

They eventually moved to the sofa as Dr. Strange explained him how his magic worked. It didn't sound invasive and the guy didn't set off any of his alarms despite being a wizard that teleported out of nowhere, and Bucky was desperate enough to try. 

It was a leap of faith and a baseless one at best, but he was more terrified of having the witch meddle with his erased conditioning than having this magician try and protect him from it. Maybe he should’ve told Steve about this, in case this buddy of Stark’s decided to brainwash him or something. 

Bucky dismissed the thought, starting to realize how ridiculous their claims were when it came to Stark’s villainous nature. What use would Stark have of a one-armed assassin, when he had a wizard stronger than that red spawn of Satan a call away? 

Bucky hoped he was right in his open-minded approach to Stark, knowing that whatever the inventor had in store for him was better than being vulnerable to the witch. Maybe, if this works out and Stark isn’t a liar, maybe Bucky won’t have to fight the urge to punch Stevie’s teeth in when he kept siding with an embodiment of the red alert sign. 

“Sure you can keep her out?” Bucky asked in the end. The man looked at him with an easy smile, the first one he offered him since he arrived an hour ago. 

“Oh, I could do much more.”

That was all the comforting he needed for the still-there panic to finally subside. 

“Do it.”

 

~

_“you alright?”_

_“yes.”_

He was about to throw his phone at the other side of the bed and pick his book up again, but then he sent another message. 

_“thank you, stark.”_

_“its not me who helped you”_

_And this was the guy that everyone called arrogant?_

Bucky wasn't any closer to understanding the man, though it only made him want to know more about Stark. Maybe it was all an act - though Stark wasn't a trained liar, and Bucky was trained to spot them, to read people effortlessly. So why was Stark so hard to read? 

Prejudice wasn't the way, obviously, and Bucky promised himself he wouldn't pull a Scott Lang and dance to someone else’s music without forming his own opinion, independent of Steve’s disapproving gaze or Clint’s ever running jap. 

After all, Stark deserved to be judged fairly, and if the conclusion happens not to clash with the Rogues’ extensive filipicas of the man’s despicable nature, at least he’ll stop feeling drained after listening to all of them bashing Stark constantly. 

The magic that Dr. Strange - Stephen, he insisted - called “ward”, left golden warmth blooming in Bucky’s chest and calmed him down further after his latest encounter with their resident walking nightmare. The Other guy was almost growling within him to just grab the nearest weapon and rid the world of her poison, now that she couldn't hurt him, but Stark had enough of the Accords’ paperwork to deal with and he wasn't about to add on to the man’s already heavy load. With how pale the man looked today and those dark purple rings framing his eyes, he seemed exhausted enough as it is. 

Bucky was just about to let down his hair and slip underneath his covers when it hit him - since when did he start caring about Stark’s sleeping habits?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bucky: i am calm. untouchable. winter soldier, cold and calculating.
> 
> tony: *smiles*
> 
> bucky: ohmy God i am MELting
> 
> // comments & kudos appreciated!


	3. of houses of cards that withstood a storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> every other day, am i right? maybe ill pull a jake paul and make a song about my current consistent updating rate lol (dw i wont)

What Bucky loved most about the Compound, second place only to his hideout of a room, was the running trail that encircled the property and all the buildings and facilities it was made up of. Ten kilometers of finely crushed stone gave off satisfying sounds when hit with Bucky’s shoes and were a good enough distraction from his jumbled thoughts, especially when paired with physical training. 

Bucky would usually run three laps and call it a day, before his unbalanced posture could start affecting him greatly. He decided on talking to Stark about his arm again, hoping for a more conclusive ending to their conversation this time ‘round, but just as he was about to leave the East Wing with his wet hair still wrapped in a towel, Steve called for him from their common room. 

Bucky willed his panicked thoughts away when he reached the open living room and saw Steve sitting next to the witch who had a mock-concerned expression on her face. It took him one look at the picture painted before him and what it probably had in store for him this time to give him a headache. He rubbed his temples absent-mindedly before sitting on the sofa across from Steve and his bratty protégé. 

“Look, Buck, I know you’re going to protest this again, but she helped me with PTSD too and you had a panic attack again-” and there it was, Steve was missing the whole goddamned point of _I had decisions made for me for seventy fucking years, Stevie, and if you want me to not deem you HYDRA and rip your fucking legs off you should stop talking right about now_ and the witch was nodding away at Steve’s every word as if she wasn’t the cause to a problem Steve insisted she could solve. That wasn’t entirely incorrect - Bucky mused to himself as he blankly took yet another declaration of undying love from Steve - cause the witch could perish herself from this Earth and therefore solve the issue with 100% efficiency. Sadly, that was light years away from what Steve was proposing, and Bucky would’ve listened to it all before calmly refusing the help, he really would, but-

“And she _is_ a good person, Buck, no matter what anyone else says, you have to trust me on this one,” and there it was - the sole reason of their demise, a hundred years of friendship tarnished by an evil witch and Stevie’s selective oblivion. 

Bucky stayed silent in contemplation, though much to future Steve’s dismay it wasn't whether to accept the offer or not. Bucky was trying to piece together the little amount of memories he had left of the time their friendship was an actual friendship and not shackles around his ankles that kept him put and piled guilt on his already overbearing conscience. 

Was Stevie always this oblivious in realisation of his good intentions? Bucky thought back to all the times he had to cut his leisure time short and fend off drunk idiots that Steve got in fights with. To when he had to beg Steve not to keep lying on his enlistment forms cause with a record like his, he’d only be a liability in the army, a burden for someone else to carry cause Stevie’s conscience needed to be spotless and everyone else was bound to participate in that being possible. 

He always had good intentions, and a good heart, but wasn't the road to hell supposed to be paved with those? 

Bucky shook his head no, no to everything that Steve all but ordered him to do, and no to his own overconfident assessment that he could endure living with Steve when he didn't even know who he was yet. Cause Stevie was always sure of himself and what he stood for, so much that people who weren’t would stand by him and take his opinions as factual without ever looking into them, forgetting that Steve was human and therefore bound to make mistakes.

Bucky went through hell to win the right to live free of others meddling with his choices, and Steve can go to hell if he thinks Bucky will give that up in the name of a friendship between two ghosts that haunted his shattered mind. 

As he walked back to his room, he realized he was grateful that the witch was good enough of a scapegoat for him to avoid having the talk with Steve and confessing to him that Bucky died in the Alps seventy years ago and James was too good at being a spy to let such a brilliant fake identity go to waste. 

~

He was determined in talking to Stark this time, ignoring Clint’s questioning glare as he left the East Wing by using his new keycard. At least this time he wasn't idiotic enough to try and win a duel of wit with Bucky of all people. 

_“So, what’s your big plan, soldier? You gonna suck Stark’s dick to get what we used to have at the Tower?”_

_“You just implied that all of you sucked Stark off to get to his resources. The Avengers used to be a prostitution ring, then?” And Clint turned red in anger before storming off to his room, slamming the door shut behind him to tune out Bucky’s laughter._

Bucky went unnoticed when he entered the West Wing kitchen, where the A.I.’s Compound map indicated Stark would be. And he was, in the middle of making lunch and talking to that spider kid who was hunched over what appeared to be his homework as he waited for food to come. 

“James! Just the man I need! Could you help Peter with his homework? I’m kind of busy here,” Stark said when Bucky got their attention by letting his footsteps be heard. He motioned to a steaming pot of spaghetti sauce and a mountain of diced vegetables he had yet to add to the mix. 

Bucky shrugged, taking a seat next to Peter and looking over his math problem. He immediately recognized it as a Diophantine equation that was actually reversed Erdós-Strauss’ hypothesis, writing down the three fractions needed for Peter to list the remaining pairs of solutions. He almost yelped when he looked up from the notebook, seeing Peter’s gaze shifting between him and Stark, his mouth hanging open. 

“I was trying to solve this for the past sixteen minutes! Mr. Stark, he just looked at it and knew the solution right away, how?!” Peter was still staring, something akin to admiration in his eyes that made Bucky look away. 

“He was a sniper and a Sergeant, Pete, he knows his maths well,” Stark said, that familiar glint of amusement apparent in his eyes when Bucky turned to meet his gaze.

Stark maybe played naive, too, cause he spent only an hour with Bucky and understood him better than Stevie and the rest managed to find out in a year, as they thought of him more as a battering ram and less as a proficient spy. Stark was more observant than he initially thought, and Bucky did know his maths which now proposed a low probability of Stark using him for some unknown hidden personal gain. 

Bucky was in too deep to turn away now, so he came clean about why he payed a visit to this side of the building. Turns out, Stark was expecting that, and led the way to his safe haven of a workshop, Peter tagging along after Bucky assured him he was fine with that. 

He spent the rest of the afternoon leaning back against the couch after Stark did a full body scan to recalibrate the arm and adjust the weight of it, which assured Bucky that Tony knew what he was doing, well-versed in prosthetics for God knows what reason. 

The blue sheen was back, making the room feel alive almost, and Bucky would've paid more attention to the diagrams and graphics of Iron Man suits locked on the ceiling if only he could tear his gaze away from Stark. The man looked at home surrounded with heavy-duty machinery and titanium plates that he stacked on his desk, setting up his laser cutter as he explained the process to an attentive Peter in a way that left Bucky in no doubt over his brilliance. It was simple enough for the kid to follow and insightful enough for him to be able to repeat the process if need be, despite not being told the actual names of said processes. Bucky had to wonder if Stark was simplifying everything for him to understand too. 

He couldn't get over the look that Peter had in his eyes whenever Stark answered his queries or validated his efforts at making a _working miniature replica of the Mars rover, Mr. White Wolf, it’s gonna be hella cool_ or when Stark would mumble something about the angular issues as he barely retouched a plate and fit it back with more ease - the look of pure admiration and gratitude, fondness and love for his mentor that looked a little like Stevie’s looks at Bucky when he was still small and sickly and his. At least, that’s what Bucky hoped those were - brotherly, nothing more or less. Peter was a good kid, and not nearly as naive as he was when he stopped mid-fight to admire Bucky’s arm (it was a good stun tactic cause Bucky barely remembered he was supposed to be detaining the kid), and for the millionth time in the past week Bucky found himself pondering on people’s various interpretations of Tony Stark’s presence. 

Peter must’ve seen something in the man that Bucky couldn't yet make out, or didn't want to, because Steve was still all he’s got left from a time when he was himself the most, and if he ended up being wrong about Stark-

Bucky didn't want to think of that potential baggage waiting to be added on his conscience, but it was undeniably lurking beneath the guise of gathering intel, and Bucky didn't want to admit that to himself and in a way ruin his curiosity-driven threading on Stark’s metaphysical turf by acknowledging that it was partly driven by guilt due to choosing himself over a grieving man because Steve deemed it right. That reasoning stopped being a sufficient alternative to common sense, and Bucky was sick of lying, of pretending he was someone that Steve subtly demanded of him to be. 

 

His attention was back on Stark as he moved around the workshop with practiced ease, picking up needed precision tools without even needing to look, and overseeing Peter’s welding ventures while slotting vibranium and its alloys together in a shape that at this point vaguely resembled a forearm. Bucky agreed to the arc reactor as his new appendage’s energy source, as Stark’s life depended on it at one point and it didn’t fail to keep its creator alive through overworking and fighting madmen. 

“Great job, Pete! Spare your old friend a thought when you inevitably overthrow my company in stocks in four years, would ya?” he said as he ruffled Peter’s hair, cutting out the first bicep plate as they all watched the little rover make its way across the floor to Bucky’s feet, where it beeped a few times before turning left and driving off. 

“You’re not controlling it?” Bucky asked, not bothering to mask his excitement, and Peter awarded him with a sunny grin as he rambled about the sensors he developed with Stark’s help. His phone rang just as he got to explaining the hardest part of building the little self-driving robot - which was naming it, cause the kid was smart as hell and of course naming his first robot was the only hill he almost died on - and he asked Bucky to decide between “Wall-Meme” and “Robocito” before answering the phone. 

Stark snorted at the names, scrunching up his nose before smiling fondly when Peter wasn't looking and Bucky almost outright gaped at him. _A grown man has no business being this adorable,_ was a helpful insight from the Other guy, but before he could indulge himself with some overdue introspective, Peter announced how Aunt May needed him back home a bit earlier and Stark wordlessly put the tools away before helping Peter properly pack his school project. 

“Will you come with us?” Peter asked as Stark zipped up his backpack, and nodded when Bucky shot him a questioning look. 

Bucky was nothing if not a sucker for puppy eyes and pouty kids. 

They piled into one of Stark’s non-flashy cars before driving off from the underground garage to Peter’s playlist pounding from the surround system. 

The kid rambled the whole way to the airport, urging Bucky to look here and there as he explained everything, bless his soul, as if Bucky didn't make himself familiar with every nook and cranny within a 70 kilometer radius of the Compound the very moment he stepped foot outside. 

When they dropped him off at the airport and gave him enough hugs to last him until he comes back for a visit again, Stark made an unfamiliar turn on their drive back and Bucky cursed his need to indulge the kid cause he didn’t think this whole two-hour drive back with no one but Stark and himself in the car through. He decided not to show how tense the ordeal made him, knowing that he had a good thirty-second window before any of Stark’s suits he currently owned could envelop his non-enhanced body in a deadly hot rod red and gold armor that withstood a god once. 

After a good few minutes of tense silence, Stark stopped the car in front of a mall before he turned to Bucky. 

“Look, I know this must be hard for you, and I get it, I really do. And I don't like that you’re tense all the time, when I promised myself I’d make the place as safe as possible. I get that I was wrong in giving you a phone that FRIDAY’s imbedded in, and I’m sorry. For doing that to you, when you have every right not to trust me.” He sighed, rubbing his hands over his face, and Bucky subconsciously kept studying his body language for telling signs of acting. He regretted it when Stark looked at him and realized what he was doing, letting himself deflate against the driver seat with another sigh. 

“There should be an electronics store on the second floor, just, pick whatever and I’ll wire them the cash. Please,” he ended, and Bucky would rather walk back to the hell he crawled out of if it meant he’d never see such raw guilt on anyone’s face again. He got out of the car, mostly to get away from that harrowing expression, and breathed out only when the double glass door closed behind him. 

Bucky picked an Apple phone without giving it much thought and ignored the cashier’s disapproving glare as she probably recognized the ex-fugitive, which was confirmed by her rolling her eyes when Bucky told her Stark was paying for the phone. He understood Clint’s reaction from earlier that day, and thought about apologizing somehow on his walk back to the black jeep. 

Stark was sporting his casual smile again, making an effortless U-turn in the narrow street and mumbling “basic white boy” under his breath when he saw which device Bucky picked, startling a genuine laugh out of him. 

Bucky forgave himself for his lack of control when he saw how Stark’s shoulders lost some of their tension when Bucky laughed at his remark. In turn, it helped settle his panic, and driving with Stark wasn’t as draining as he expected it to be, so he used the abundance of time to set up his new phone and add Stark’s number to it from memory. 

Only when he reached his room he realized that Stark hasn't said a word the whole ride back, and it made him forget where he was headed for a second. 

_”Oh, he’s in love with the sound of his own voice, it’s so annoying.”_

_”He can’t go three minutes without talking, or else he’d drown in his own inappropriate jokes and rants that no one wants to listen. You wouldn’t stand being near him, Buck, trust me.”_

_”Bruce fell asleep while listening to his whining, and he went on for three hours without noticing Bruce was taking a nap the whole time! Can you imagine being that unaware of everything that isn’t you? What an asshole, God, I’m so glad I don't have to pretend to like him anymore.”_

Unsurprisingly, he was too exhausted now to try and settle the opposing sides that resided in his brain, and he prolonged the inevitable inner clash of impressions for another day, falling asleep the moment his head hit the pillows. 

~

“What you got there, Mr. Righteous? A new phone?” Clint wondered, snatching it from Bucky’s hands. “So you don’t trust Stark after all, huh? That’s the smartest you’ve been since I met you, Barnes. I guess you weren't ignoring our group messages after all,” he said as he added Bucky’s new number to the group chat again. 

Bucky wanted to ask why Clint still used a Starkphone, but settled in just demanding of Clint to return his phone before getting up from the table. He didn't feel the need to apologize for yesterday anymore. Stark texted him that the arm is ready for the first test, and he realized he was relieved to have an excuse to leave the East Wing again. 

“Is it just me, or is he avoiding us lately?” Clint asked when Bucky made his way out, just loud enough for his enhanced hearing to pick up. Something in Clint’s voice told him that he wanted Bucky to hear it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> clint: he's a lying asshole dont listen to him
> 
> bucky: when did ya start talking abt yourself in 3rd person tho
> 
> //
> 
> thoughts? comment here or on tungler.com & let me know if you liked it :D kudos are appreciated too btw lol


	4. of freedom he never dared to crave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry about the wait, i was a busy & lazy lil shit in the past few days
> 
> a little more dialog ahead! #drama #watch your clothes coz tea's about to be spilled

He found Stark zoned out, seemingly unaware of Bucky’s entrance for over three minutes which Stark spent staring blankly at the wall across from him. 

“You can sit, James,” was what he said before turning around and picking up his tools with eerily steady hands. Bucky wasn’t about to comment on his unusual behavior, not when he didn't know him personally and admitting to watching hundreds of videos of the man to be able to tell when he's behaving weirdly was not something he was keen on doing. 

Can’t blame Bucky for not trusting generosity. 

“I knew this would be an issue,” Stark said after a minute of Bucky flexing and bending the arm and fingers while Stark ran scans, mumbling to himself about fluidly slotting plates. 

“That’s what the nanites are for. They can - I can program them to actively balance out the strength in your arms,” he said, already writing out algorithms over his existing blueprints. 

“Cause my right arm got stronger since I used it all the time.”

Stark flinched at that, as if he just now realized that Bucky was in the room with him still, before nodding and pushing himself away from the chair Bucky was laying in. 

“Why do you do that every time I talk to you?” 

“Hmm?” 

“That,” Bucky said, nodding towards his chest where Stark’s hand was tapping against it lightly. He paled, his hands shaky now as he slammed the pad down on the workbench. 

“Is that some kind of joke, James? They put you up to it, or you felt like riling me up today? Huh?” his eyes looked slightly manic when he faced Bucky and strode towards him with balled fists. 

“Do you think it’s funny now? Me freaking out cause you tried to pull the reactor out? Tony the brat and his fucking PTSD-” 

“I just aimed for the suit’s off switch, Stark, wasn’t much to it.” Bucky said with a shrug, surprised by the new face of Stark he got to see and later categorize. 

That prompted Stark to come to a halt, staring at Bucky in disbelief before dropping lifelessly down on his own chair. He laughed a little, a humorless, choked sound, fingers still digging into his palms when he shook his head.

“He didn't tell you, did he?” he said after a few moments, barely audible over the constant whirring of his automated helpers. 

There was no need for specifying whom was the secretive man in question, and Bucky could feel a dull headache underway as he sat upright, never looking away from Stark’s hunched frame. 

“Tell me what?” 

“I’m sorry, I shouldn't have yelled at you for no reason-”

“Tell me what?” Bucky let his voice sound authoritative and dark, knowing that the hint of a hard russian accent would erase any further attempts to derail the conversation. Stark sighed, getting up on shaky legs and just as Bucky was about to get up and stop him from making one more step away he opened a cabinet and pulled out a bottle of scotch and a glass, prompting Bucky to relax again. 

“I can't do this sober,” Stark mumbled to himself and it sounded too much like an apology and too broken for Bucky to try and unwrap today, or ever, probably. 

“Don't spare me the guilt for what I’ve done, Stark,” Bucky said as he watched the dark brown liquid slip past his bitten lips. _Oh, what I’d do to you, малыш, if you only knew._ Bucky shook the thought away, focusing on the way Stark’s breathing slowed after the second glass and the raw pain in his eyes when he finally opened them again. 

“What you can't find about Afghanistan on the Internet, is that I woke up with hands shoved down my chest placing a magnet powered by a car battery there to stop a shrapnel from tearing into my heart. God knows how Yinsen stopped the wound from infecting when all he had to cut me open with were knives and rags he washed by hand. I made a better one when I got home, and woke up once more with hands ripping it out of my chest, this time by my godfather and the only man I've trusted with everything for over ten years of my life. I would have died, God, I fucking wish I died then before all this… I got surgery and got it removed but nothing could remove the fucking nightmares from my mind except for shutting it down with all the alcohol I could take in without dying, and then you went for it and I thought Rogers told you about it all, I thought you knew and still went after it and it was such a low fucking blow and I panicked and blew your arm off, I’m sorry, I wouldn't - I think I wouldn’t have done it if I knew - but I did, and I’m sorry, James, I really am, and I don't know if I’ll be able to forgive myself for it.”

Bucky sat there, unable to tear his gaze from Stark and the overwhelming amount of guilt over something he had so little control of at the time and it felt like looking in a fucking mirror but he didn't have the strength to just close his eyes and pretend he didn't hear this, pretend that Stevie is a good person with enough decency to be honest to a man who’s been used and lied to for seventy fucking years but all he could see now was his pretend-freedom granted by his guardian devil who made sure Bucky knew just enough to side with him despite reason and logic screaming at him not to. 

He felt like he was on that train again when Stark opened his mouth and now he was falling again, only this time he was sure he’d die, and he hoped for it, sitting across from a man he took everything from once and would have taken his life as well, if he didn’t get that surgery mere months prior. 

He felt sick, bile rising in his throat but he couldn't will himself to move or lie down because his foundation crumbled underneath him and he realized that he was drowning out his guilt by laying it down on Steve and hoping, but never making sure, that he was doing what needed to be done, that he would always do the right thing and spare Bucky from more guilt being added to his burdened soul. 

Bucky’s chest felt constricted, and he barely registered the outstretched arm in his field of vision but he looked up when he finally did and saw understanding in Stark’s sorrowful eyes and he did the only thing he could to stop himself from falling forever - he pulled him in and clung on for dear life, only realizing how much he was shaking when Stark put away his glass and held him together with both arms. 

And in that grip tightening around his ribs was when Bucky could finally remember to breathe.

Stark’s fingers were now carding through his hair, soft but frantic and grounding in their constant movement, giving Bucky a way out of his mind if thinking this through got too much to bear today. He pressed his face against Stark’s chest, breathing in a mix of rich sandalwood and motor oil and wondering if he’d ever really been free since the day he enlisted to fight overseas. 

Azano was fresh in his mind still, a jumbled mess of black and metal and grime and humid air that chilled his bones whenever he’d dream about it again, questions in a then foreign language shouted at him over and over until he started praying for the release of death but Stevie came and pulled him out and in his light Bucky felt warmth seeping into him but never to replace the cold, but rather to sit beside it a reminder that Stevie would always come for him. 

He was different and sounded different almost all the time and sometimes Bucky selfishly wondered if him getting the serum was a deal he was okay with cause Stevie wasn't his anymore, he wasn't Stevie even, just this perfect wall of muscle and unyielding willpower to shield his people, and a heart devoted to worshipping a country as imperfect as he was supposed to be, but couldn't. 

Bucky made peace with the fact when he saw pictures of Captain America on stage, surrounded by dancers and fanfare and all the things he hated about the war that lured in young men with sun for a smile like his used to be, before. 

He barely made it to the empty gas barrels they used as garbage cans to throw up in it. 

Then came the train and HYDRA and years of hell and agony he wished would kill him but it didn't cause he was paying for something, must’ve been, and Stevie came for him again and ripped him out of that perdition and Bucky readily took for a fact whatever came out of Stevie’s mouth cause a man willing to die at his hands rather than kill him and rid the world of his crimes in the name of a friendship he couldn't remember at the time surely wouldn't do Bucky any more harm than Bucky could take. 

But here and now it all crashed down on him and all the people he killed were wailing in his mind, all the ghosts he bottled away racked through his skull and screamed in renewed agony, reminding him that it had been his fault all along and no amount of consolation from a hero as flawed as the worst of them could wash their blood out of the crevices that formed around his wrist from holding a gun too long. 

He was a weapon cursed with a soul and conscience that they didn't kill and on his worst nights he wished they did but he didn't deserve that, if a monster like him were to have one human trait left he was sadistic in being glad that it was a guilty conscience that kept him from looking in mirrors in fear that he’ll cut his suffering short by breaking it into reflective shards and cutting into his aorta to spill blood one final time. 

Stark was a constant of moving fingers and calm breathing that puffed against his hair and lulled him into serenity after an hour spent crying silently into his white shirt where his glowing heart used to be while holding him pinned to his lap, but Bucky still couldn’t bring himself to pull away and let Stark see just how much of a mess he was. 

Stark wasn't intent on pushing him away either, though he did shift on Bucky’s lap to reach the arm designs and write out what sounded like lines of code, possibly to distract himself from being forced to comfort his parents’ murderer. 

And it was a newfound thing - being selfish, but Bucky would celebrate that small victory of his individuality over still-present conditioning effects, but right now he tightened his grip on Stark again and allowed himself a shaky breath or two more before letting him go. 

“Stark-” he croaked as the man got up from his lap, taking the warmth and his comforting scent away from Bucky’s hold. 

“I think we’re well past the formalities, James,” he said in a soft voice, his eyes dry and fixating Bucky in place, and he would die a happy man if those mesmerising eyes never looked as guilty as they did an hour ago. 

“Tony,” he breathed and it felt right and like he didn't deserve it, but Tony’s lips quirked upward and that fragile smile felt alleviating and Bucky was glad he allowed himself to be selfish again. 

“Yeah?” 

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

He left then, air filling his chest easier than it did in years when mixed with Tony’s overwhelming scent and all he could think of was Tony’s eyes and how little they hid from him for reasons Bucky couldn't name vile or malicious even if he wanted to. 

~

“It took one hour to do test scans, huh?” 

Bucky didn't want to pay attention to Clint, not when he was twenty-four feet away from an afternoon of solitude, but he had to go and place himself in between Bucky and his desired destination. 

Not a smart move on his best days, a certain death on any other. 

“Glad to hear you’ve no better way to waste your days away than stalking me,” he said sweetly, taking a step forward when Clint shoved him back.

Now that had to be prompted by something bigger than baseless suspicion, and Bucky was intrigued enough to not crash his skull in on the spot. The Other guy seemed to agree with the sentiment, for a change. 

“You’re doing it, aren't you? Sucking up to Stark so he lets you off the hook? Using him to get to your freedom, just like you used Steve until he got us all in this mess and couldn't help you anymore?” 

Bucky played along, putting on a scowl as he guessed where this conversation was about to go. 

“Aren't you gonna say anything? You motherfucker, I gave up my family to save you!” And Clint did what he’d instantly regret, not that Bucky ever cared enough to take anything the man said to heart, and even when he did (all the things he said about Tony, really) it turned out to be a mistake, to put it lightly. 

He stopped his advance effortlessly, more of a reflexive reaction than actual defensive as he wrapped his hand around Clint’s wrist and squeezed carelessly until they both could hear his bones cracking. 

Clint’s face was a pained grimace but the adrenaline from being apprehended by the Winter Soldier seemed to do the trick in stopping him from screaming out, allowing Bucky’s calm voice to reverberate on the inside of his skull. 

“I never asked any of you to do as much as lift a finger in order to help me. Either talk to your god draped in spandex, or don’t, cause I’m sure you’d be lost and stripped of point or reason if you tear down the only idol whose virtue you didn't dare question, but do as much as think of venting about your self-inflicted misery to my face, so help me God above, I will make sure to cut you up and feed you to the hounds that are way more deserving of all the free food you suck in through your ever running mouth. We clear?” he asked in the end, and it was pointless to press the question further cause Clint wouldn't find his voice for long after Bucky’s speech, so he shoved him out the way and allowed himself a smirk as he entered his room and sighed. 

One down, and it already felt easier to breathe, knowing that whatever Clint does next, will only push Bucky in the right direction - as far from that band of bitter misfits as possible, for now. 

He thought back to Tony before he picked up his book, to how weightless he was when sitting on his thighs yet able to anchor Bucky in the present despite the turmoil racking his mind and leaving him bare to the world, if only for an hour. 

Bucky hoped that cutting his ties would set him free without leaving him plummeting to lonesome suffering, but then again, he didn't find even that scenario as harrowing as the past year of his life now seemed to him, worse than ever before. 

How can a good person hate the Tony Stark he now met, and grown to adore in less than two weeks, despite the prejudice he held onto until the point it became ridiculous? 

How is that he could see through every trait they hated him for as a defense against people like them, who exploited every information of his vulnerability as much as they could for their personal gain? 

Who is the villain when all thoughts are stripped away, the lady or the murderer?

Senseless, it was all senseless, and Bucky hoped he’d find a redemptive speck in the jumble of their faulty reasoning, knowing already that it still wouldn't be enough to make him side with them ever again. 

Fooled me once, Stevie, and I’ll bury your memory now just like you keep burying me alive to replace me with the ghost whose face I happen to have. 

~

Cold water felt heavenly against his burning skin as he let his post-workout shower turn into half an hour of standing beneath an ice cold stream of water lost in thoughts that wore him out more than a couple hundred pull-ups ever could. 

He was toweling off his now long hair when he realized he wasn't alone in the gym anymore. 

“Speak up, Natalia, I’ve no intent on staying here much longer.”

She was wearing Steve’s shirt and nothing else, though it might as well pass as a dress on her deceivingly small frame. She was even smaller than Tony, yet still unable to hide how deadly she was capable of being, at least to Bucky’s eyes. The student never surpassed the teacher, apparently. 

“We were talking about you just now, you know.”

“Good to hear you finally changed the subject, is that all?” 

She had the decency to pretend that she was taken aback by his sarcastic tone, though she dropped the act when Bucky quirked up his eyebrow in his _are you really trying to sell me the bullshit I taught you_ look that he was using on her more often than not lately. 

“So it’s true, what Clint said. You’re siding with Stark, after everything.”

“Had I been told the truth in time, there’d be no doubt in my mind over which side I should take. I’m just unable to fathom why you switched,” he said, cocking his head to the side to pin her in place until she answers. 

“Just, please, James,” and it sounded wrong on her lips yet better than ‘Bucky’ ever would, “tell him I’m sorry, will you?” 

He nodded thoughtfully after a second, giving her a parting smile as he spoke. 

“Sorry for stabbing him in the back, or sorry that you lost the mine of your life to a good fuck and an evader of accountability? Just so I deliver the full message.”

She stayed silent after that, never bringing up the fact that Bucky ruined Clint’s dominant hand and left him useless in potential battle. 

Maybe he’ll finally focus on taking care of his fucking children now. 

 

~

_i have good news and bad news_

_shoot_

_good news are that your arm is ready and all we have left is your appointment with dr Cho in a few days before fitting it on_

Bucky felt tingles of excitement run up his spine as he grasped the fact that he’d finally feel whole again, at least physically. 

_and the bad news?_

_peter named his robot ‘tiny stark’. the audacity. je suis shocked, frosty. im *this* close to disowning that kid i swear_

Bucky shook his head in amusement, pulling the covers up and asking FRIDAY to kill the lights. She responded by wishing him good night, which was a common occurence lately and a privilege he vowed to himself to keep, knowing that it was an indication of Tony’s trust in him. 

He still didn't know how he deserved it, though it would be ungrateful of him to question his host’s intentions any more than he already did, especially now when he was sure his unexplainable behaviour had no evil intent lurking in its cause. 

FRIDAY turned on the lights again without being asked or needing to, cause Bucky was on his feet the moment he heard Steve approach the room. 

Two down, the third underway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **bucky:** i only met this idiot a week ago but if anyone lays a hand on him i will kill everyone in this compound and then myself
> 
> note: bucky is reading 'crime & punishment' where the protagonist (the man) kills the old lady he owes rent money (the lady) and explains it to himself as a reasonable act even tho hes blatantly wrong ~ look at me and my use of intertextual writing lmfao
> 
> note vol 2: the nickname means 'baby boy' in russian, courtesy of val the savior <3
> 
>  
> 
> tell me what you think of this chapter!! next one is gonna be the Ultimate Showdown and then we lay off the drama for a bit for some ~soft~ content (more like cumtet cause this will probably eventually turn into metal arm porn lol) 
> 
> ....... anyways..... kudos & comments to keep me writing, all that jazz :D


	5. the house of cards was bound to cave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a shit chapter by a shit writer, next one will be better <3

A heavy silence ensued after the door clicked when Steve closed them and stood, looking unsure, leaning against them. As if Bucky would, after years of affliction, run from a conversation. 

And there was something wrong about Steve slouching, looking a little more like that scrawny dead kid Bucky’d give his other arm for. Something wrong about the look in his eyes, a determination or a verdict or- God, why doesn't he start talking, please, Steve-

“Bucky.”

He flinched, a little, and that’s when Steve’s face started looking as broken and worn out as Bucky felt since he finally admitted to himself that playing a role was easier than announcing a death no one would’ve believed anyways. 

The name he’d grown to hate - but it didn't matter, he hated himself, too, and it was fitting in that sadistic way - cause the man was fucking dead and all he wished was that he died when that name did, a scream that remained frozen in the fucking Alps out of all places. 

An alias, a role, a shelter from everyone knowing who he really was before James himself even could find out. The Other guy, or just his instinct, his twisted needs or just conditioning, unbroken, unyielding and it didn't matter, none of it fucking mattered thankfully cause Steve needed to be called Stevie and he was ready to upturn the Earth itself if need be, if Bucky wanted him to. 

Bucky was dead, he wanted nothing craved nothing. He _was_ nothing. A corpse without a body. 

So James took what life gave him cause usually it took, so much that he couldn't give even himself credit for turning a worst case scenario into a survival technique. Steve had no clue, didn't want to question improbable odds and how out of everything ‘Bucky’ was, and no one else dared to question Captain America, well, not until he went and blew it all and _Bucky_ had to fucking pretend it was all worth doing for a fucking ghost. Because they wouldn't have- Steve wouldn't have risked a life of hiding if it wasn't Bucky’s life in question (and it wasn't, James wanted to scream, to claw out his eyes to never see the guilt on Steve's face that he should be dealing with). 

He felt like an altar to a lifeless totem and his screams at night said so a few times, when it took too much energy off him to even breathe. 

He hated the fucking name, because it was the only thing that kept him alive, and fuck, did he want to die. 

“So all this time you-” Steve’s voice died as he slid to the ground, head tipped back to press against the door. 

“Yeah.”

He nodded, closing his eyes, and James didn't know why he felt the need to comfort him still, now that he had no need to put the act on again. He’d do it out of human decency, if nothing, but Steve didn't need any of that right now. 

Black and white was his thing, even before Germany, before Azano, before.

And Steve wasn't a bad man, that much James could tell despite not trusting him, he was good but bound to an idea of what he should be and never could and _Steve, don’t you see they want you to live a statue,_ was a sentence James would never voice. 

James cared about himself, and the little humanity he managed to salvage within. The stolen glances of Tony’s ass, the smell of freshly cut grass in Banner’s garden, his soft carpet, his books - all the things James loved and loved that he could love, again. 

Steve wasn't on the list, simply because Steve and everyone else expected James to trust him by default, and sue him, but James wasn't keen on doing what was wanted of him lately. He let this go on for too long, but it was on purpose and guilt was another one of those human things he appreciated having still. 

“Why,” he asks finally, broken in a way James thought he’d never allow himself to, and he felt sick knowing Steve was holding out for a dead man who drowned behind James’ eyes long ago.

“Because you let me to.”

_Bury your dead, James, before they reach the shovels._

Steve did look like he wanted to let go, though it shouldn't have been surprising, James was still transfixed by how much emotion Steve’s face held now, because of him. It hurt _Bucky_ too, now, didn't it? 

Steve sighed again, barely standing without the door to hold onto. 

“We’ll talk again, James.”

And maybe Bucky wasn't as dead as he thought, either, because something deep within broke and allowed to call himself James without feeling guilty, now that Steve called him that too. 

~

He felt empty standing in the workshop, void of fear or anything else, as the doctor - Helen Cho, she told him twice now - tried to explain him why it was important that his arm doesn't hurt when they fit on the new prosthetic. She looked shaken at best and James would've taken pity on her if only he knew why what he was saying made her flinch and tighten her grip on her mug of orange tea. 

Her hand was shaking by the time she went over her explanation the third time, and she barely managed to push her glasses further up her nose before she called in Tony. 

“I - Tony, I,” she rasped, and left the room when Tony nodded sympathetically. 

Silence fell over them and curse his clogged stream of consciousness, where he couldn't find room between thinking about dead Steve and Bucky and the Other guy thinking about tearing Tony’s clothes off and having him against the workbench, _my красавец, it would hurt so prettily_ , to even try and understand what was so off-putting in his answers to dr. Cho. 

Tony was biting his lip, a show of his reluctance in talking about this, whatever this was, cause James did the tests and scans and asked dr. Cho to skip the elimination process and just stick the arm on him already, despite the constant dull pain she warned him of if they rushed the process before she could isolate his damaged synapses. 

Dull pain was what he deserved, probably. 

He told her that and a bit more than he needed and she ended up storming out of the room and asking Tony wordlessly to _do something, anything, this is not okay._

Why, though? 

“We’re not gonna help punish you,” Tony says, low and definite and too close to home, cause he felt that same guilt and James knew that now. So he shrugged and agreed to whatever they would do to his nerves, cause Tony didn't need more specks on his conscience and James planned on filling up the vacant space of the king sized bed he was now additionally grateful for. 

Planning a coup was not new for him, or it was in a sense of causing turmoil in someone else’s life not for the sake of overthrowing a government but for his own enjoyment, for himself. 

He didn't have many desires and the little his mind came across he didn't intend on losing, and Tony was right there, close enough for now. 

Extending the process of building the arm didn't seem like a bad idea in light of his newest auto-directive. 

“You can't say things like that to other people, James.”

And only later will James rack his brain for an inner debate on whether Tony did it out of guilt or out of, well, anything else. 

“What are you, then? Tony?” And it felt like skimming past a warning sign, like he cared about being hurt. 

His smirk told James just the words Tony would never dare say out loud. 

_You know I’m not the others, James._

The thing is, James didn't know, and Tony didn't say it for that same reason. He learned to not underestimate Stark, with or without his suit, his mind was a deadly thing, and James barely had much left of his own. 

Hydraulics are humming and the automated helpers whirring in the space around him as he held Tony’s gaze while dr. Cho operated his left arm. He didn't want to look. 

This time it didn't hurt and even though Tony had the decency to offer him total blackout, both of them knew that James would never trust a doctor with his unconscious self. 

Tony looked ghastly in blue light, tired as always and worried, maybe, as the outcome of today’s operation would set the tone for all their next meetings. Guilt and redemption walked hand in hand, was the conclusion he drew before dr. Cho assured them, with a bright smile and the shake appearing again in her fingers, that Tony could proceed with fixing the arm on James’ body permanently as soon as the next day. 

Tony left him laying still as he followed dr. Cho out the room and away enough to not be heard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao dont roast me too hard in the comments, i promise ill do you a 5k one for the 6th chapter (dont hold me too much on that)


	6. so pick him up in gentle hands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorryyyyy about the wait i promise it was worth it (debatable lmao)

Green is the first thing he registers as he struggles against his restraints to get up, to scream around the rag gagging him and cutting into his cheeks. Green is what Vasily was wearing when they shot him, on sight, as he was telling the Asset about his real name. 

Assets don't have names. 

He stopped trashing as he remembered what he was, and only then did the tall man that studied him from the corner approach his chair to inject him with B19 and noradrenaline. 

It didn't even flinch at the large needle permeating his skin, it wasn't allowed to. It wasn't allowed to whine or sob, but silently crying was expected from it at this point, and the Asset knew it couldn't hold back the constant stream of silent tears. 

It didn't know why it cried. It was all a part of the brain swiping, letting it feel disoriented wherever they could make it to, giving it false hopes and clues of pasts it didn't live through, or it did, the Asset could never tell because the Green Room would be forced onto it’s senses again, anew, until it got it fucking right. 

“What can you remember?” The tall man was now a looming figure, staring at the Asset coldly as it kept crying. 

“What can you remember.”

“What can you remember.”

_James, please._

“What can-” 

“My name is James.”

The man removes the gag, and the Asset repeats. The man’s smile is cutting into his cheeks just like the rag he pushes back into the Asset’s mouth.

Pain.

Pain.

Pain.

Screams barely make it out but its body is convulsing as electric shocks force him to trash against the restraints. 

Pain. 

Pain. 

Pitch black slots in place of the green ceiling, of it’s screams, of it’s pain, as the board is erased again. 

_James, please, please wake up._

He does, in another room, with the smell of burning flesh and antiseptic gone and Tony’s hands tucked under his armpits to stop them from shaking, probably. He’s standing just far enough not to be deemed a threat, which was as smart as James learned to expect him to be without thinking. 

“Tony,” he rasps and reaches out, pleads wordlessly for comfort he didn't earn from a man he didn't deserve. In seconds Tony is on his lap, and cradling James’ head as he holds it buried in his chest, scraping his scalp with shaky fingers as James breathed in and out a scent of sandalwood and motor oil, a mixture he allowed himself to love as it worked his nerves like a charm in calming him down. When his lungs finally allow for deep breaths again, Tony pushes James’ head away, still holding it and pressing his thumbs against James’ temples in soothing circles that seem to pull apart the headache he forgot to feel. He’s staring at Tony’s eyes, at his royal cheekbones and finally the soft hair he wanted to muse for so long, and he does just that - lets his fingers disappear in a heap of rich brown locks that smell heavenly picked up by his enhanced senses. 

“That was- oh, dear God,” Tony bit his lip before producing a glass filled to the brim with honey brown alcohol that he downed in a breath. Inebriated he looked more in control of himself, and James realized that Tony was worried over _him_. 

That was hopefully the objective truth and not just another ministration of the Other guy’s presence in his mind. 

“It’s fine, Tony,” he tries, _I’ve had worse_ he keeps to himself as the smaller man lets his head fall on James’ chest, now seeking comfort instead of offering it, and James knew already how little the chances were of this happening again with Tony. 

With fingers still tangled in Tony’s hair and the man in question nestled on top of him, he forgot to wonder why he even had such a vivid nightmare after a year of not having one, and fell asleep instead. 

~

“What do you think, would you be able to handle it tomorrow?” Tony asks as they’re walking on a cobblestone pathway Bruce designed for his garden. (“It’s more like a high tier terrarium, really,” Bruce assures them as if it makes it any less impressive, the palm trees on one side and oaks and birch trees on the other, with an artificially made stream trickling in a web system of channels with bridges and skipping stones made to cross them.)

“Yeah, I want it done, as soon as possible really,” he ended with a sigh, tracing the rough bark absently as they made it past the small forest of walnuts that Bruce genetically engineered as well. 

“We could do it tonight, too, you know.”

Something else was in Tony’s voice as he said it, a fear of some sort of dead drop that he was edging close to with his words. James would’ve been insulted really, if it were anyone else but the man with more knives in his back than he should’ve survived saying that to him. All he could feel was condolence as he could tell that Tony of all people deserved it least.

“You’re exhausted, Tony, I’d rather you slept.”

And the metaphorical cliff was behind them, for now, because Tony rolled his eyes mock-annoyedly and shoved James away mumbling _Sergeant Mother Hen_ just audible enough for James only to pick up on. 

Bruce spotted them and got up, his overalls covered in mud and a with bright smile on his face as he waved them over excitedly. 

They ended up helping him and Thor, an actual god, to plant Indian Maid fuchsias near the little knee-high waterfall the pair set up earlier. 

Tony was weirdly quiet the whole time, though Bucky was sure that neither Bruce nor Thor noticed it over how much Thor was rambling about some golden anadrakes that he’d bring to Earth as soon as he has a good enough excuse to leave his lover for more than a week. And it was odd, but only based on James’ presumptions he still had despite having first-hand experience of Tony and how unlike what the Rogues told him he was like Tony actually was. 

Tony worked in silence, picking out moist spots in the dirt that the plant acquired and drilling holes for them to fill with seeds that Bruce engineered to grow at a rate four hundred times faster than the usual ones, as a part of his studies for his 8th PhD, which was _a bit extra, I know, but I’ve nothing better to do._ Tony would occasionally flinch or subtly put more space between him and Thor, and James knew that he was extensively trained to notice these things but he couldn't not judge the other two being fucking blind to their _friend’s_ PTSD symptoms. 

He waited until Thor and Bruce got into a discussion over how in the hell would he bring seeds from another realm to Earth and how they would affect the soil, to excuse himself and Tony for some “surgery prep”, which they bought or didn't even register. 

“But I actually like gardening,” Tony whined as they made their way back to the outdoor elevator for subterranean levels. 

“And I like when you don't look about to jump out of your skin, let’s keep it that way maybe?” he deadpanned, uncaring of what other layers were there to his subtle confession that even he wasn't aware of yet. 

It did shut up Tony for a while and James was growing slightly worried that he overstepped a boundary or eleven, until the elevator door slid open and let them into the workshop and Tony looked lax again. 

“I wonder what triggered your nightmare,” Tony said more to himself, but James stopped in his tracks as his brain went into a panic-induced overdrive. The witch, oh, God, no, she must’ve, but she couldn't have, could she? 

“Uh, James? You’re looking a little dazed again, please don’t go into panic mode again, I don't know if I can take another one of those today-” 

“Is it possible that the witch did this to me?” he asked, willing himself to hold his breaths longer as to not pass out for the second time in three hours. 

“Oh. No. It wasn’t her.”

Tony said it so matter-of-factly that James doubted it could count as reassurance, but it did little to cut the restraints tightening around his ribcage again. 

“How can you be so sure?” 

Tony’s smile was harrowing at best as he squeezed his eyes shut and spoke in a voice that even a former HYDRA assassin found disturbingly chilling. 

“She gave me a nightmare, once. It didn't make me scream, James. It desolated me.”

~

Learning about Ultron from the Rogues, hell, even from Steve, was a shit show. A mangled story and pieces that were too robust to ever fit together but they demanded of him to believe them because the rest of the world seemed to not care about _Stark single handedly causing deaths of countless civilians over his arrogance._ It was out of place in an otherwise extensive amount of time of his life spent making affordable clean energy, supporting countless relief funds and spending his money the way that the other billionaires condemned him for and made virtually everyone else praise whatever god or good sent him to humanity. 

He was still playing Bucky then and didn't care enough about logical inconsistencies in their judgement of character of a guy he fought the only two times he’d seen him, though the guilt of killing his parents did urge him to distance himself from listening to particularly jarring descriptions of a death Clint would impose on him, had he been able to at the time when he _unnecessarily attacked a POW in a cave_ , which was the broadest and least precise summary of what James actually was.

Biased opinions weren’t his favorite, and something told him that Tony would give him a similar one to what his Rogue friends have told him a million times already, the only outcome to it all being that James trusted them even less and that he realized it couldn't have been the truth. Because Tony he met now, would never hurt another being without utmost necessity, unless said being was himself, which was a whole other sorrowful can of depressing worms that he’d open once he’s sure he can handle Tony the way it wouldn't hurt either of them.

James came to a conclusion after watching Tony test the sensors for the last time before the arm is ready to be installed in the morning, that he’ll need a biased opinion from a person that favors Tony, and he knew his best bet was the Colonel that ran the Compound, who happens to have been Tony’s friend the longest. 

It was only seven in the evening when Tony finished up and promised James that he’d go to sleep right away (and maybe it took guilt-tripping and saying that James would be more relaxed during the procedure if he was assured that Tony was well-rested) so James decided to stop by the director’s office on the floor above and pay the feared James Rhodes a visit of informative purposes. 

“You want a biased opinion?” 

“Every opinion is biased, sir. I want yours.”

So Rhodes talked, about how it felt to see his friend of almost thirty years slip away for the second time, of how terrified Tony really was and for a good reason but no one listened to him, of how Pepper left him cause he was waking her up with piercing screams of terror every night to the point where she got nightmares of him screaming and couldn't take it anymore despite having stronger will than anyone Rhodes had ever met, of how awfully tired Tony looked and how Banner helped build the damn thing as well, how the witch planned it and played into Tony’s self-destructive tendencies and PTSD with no regard or any kind of remorse shown to this day, and how Tony would never have built that fucking robot and sacrificed his AI if she hadn’t shown him visions of all of his friends dead and Steven fucking Rogers blaming his inaction for it. 

James was glued to the chair the entire time, effortlessly keeping a blank face up to the point he explained what Tony’s nightmare was about. 

Everyone dying because of him. 

Meaning, he did believe that the whole world was his burden to carry on his conscience because no one else will ever care enough or be competent enough or hate themselves enough to do it. 

He did feel sick now, realizing how the rest of them threw it all in Tony’s face and called him a villain over pettiness and envy, how ungrateful and fucking childish it was, _Steve, you’re supposed to be fucking better than this,_ and he did find himself throwing up in Rhodes’ office bin. 

How could Steve forgive his Bucky for the vile things he’d done while brainwashed, but turn around and despise Tony Stark for the same thing? 

He asked Rhodes that, way past the point of pretending he even tolerated his former exile roommates, and got a bitter snarl in return that he hoped for. 

“They’re fucking hypocrites, Barnes, and you were smart enough to not trust them. The whole world sided with Tony cause Tony sided with the world, but the two burned-out spies, Howard’s lab rat and his number one fan surely know better than the rest seven billion of us.”

James wiped his hands on his jeans and asked to leave, heading for his newly assigned room in the West Wing when the witch stepped in his way. 

He didn't feel as though he’d be in control of himself if she pisses him off even a little, but maybe that’s what he hoped would come out of this. 

“Going back to your new lover, my parent’s murderer?” she asked in a sickly saccharine voice, venom dripping off of each word as red swivels danced against her open palms. 

“Oh, but if you love your parents so much, you gotta admit he did them a favor for sparing them from having to put up with you,” he smiled back just as sweetly and a stream of red shot straight towards his chest, and before he even got the chance to panic the red mist dissipated in the air. 

He smiled again at her confusion and lunged at her this time, pinning her by the neck against the grey wall. He knew he could crush her esophagus easily and the Other guy screamed at him to just _do it, rid the world of the evil witch, James,_ but it didn't feel right, doing it for himself. 

“Now listen to me, and listen carefully. I will not kill you now, only because you went for me. But if I ever catch you attacking someone I care about, witch, oh how you’ll wish I did finish the job now.”

He snarled at her as the sound of footsteps made them both turn to the hallway, where Steve was standing and staring at them blankly. 

“You have to help me, Captain, he lashed out for no reason!” she sobbed as he tightened his grip, challenging Steve to dare and stop him. 

He didn’t, just walked past them and went to the gym. 

The Other guy was in full control now, grinning at her horrified face maniacally. 

“See, witch, you’re all alone on this planet, no one but Barton is dumb enough to vouch for you, and when you die by my hand I hope, I pray to God you end up in deepest hell that’s put together for evils like you.”

He dropped her on the ground harshly and smirked as he walked away and could still hear her attempts at catching her breath. 

Four for four, and he owed Strange his deepest gratitude and a tub of ice cream now.

FRIDAY allowed him to check on Tony, the door to his room opening soundlessly to a much smaller space than his, with Tony asleep in only his sweatpants on top of the covers.

James almost cooed at that, how serene his face was and a little scrunched up, and despite himself he didn't look below Tony’s neck as he gently tucked him in the extra blanket he found on the bed. 

Tony snuggled into the soft fabric, puffing a satisfied breath at the warmth now surrounding him as he managed to look unlawfully adorable even in his sleep.

James allowed himself a minute of relishing in the sight before sneaking out to his own room and realizing only when he looked in the mirror that he had the biggest lopsided grin on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **wendy:** steve pls halp!
> 
>  **steve:** read 21:07✓✓
> 
>  
> 
> all the comments & kudos ever pls i always Crave validstion (tho only if yall think i deserve it) 
> 
> \- mer <3


	7. and what's yet left of him - you carry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> an overdue update, but still. ya know. an update.

_James_ gave him a lot to think about. 

The name itself, being the tip of a much colder iceberg posing as reality he never wanted to admit to himself. 

Bucky really did die, no matter how similar James looked, his smile and the eyes that once held love for Steve. 

It was hard to let that love go. 

James was a mystery, but an enticing one, and Steve was too tired to put his trust anywhere else now, too tired to pretend he was this flawless decision-maker, and even though he knew doing nothing was still a choice, he decided to walk past a not-so-surprising conflict in the East Wing kitchen on his way to the gym. 

There was a challenge in James’ eyes, the one that looked much like his old friend daring him to ride a gnarly-looking carnival attraction and Steve wanted that back, not the man, but the connection he had once, and in his mind could only have with those icy blue eyes, too observant for him to catch up, ever. 

So he chose not to hear Wanda’s pleading voice, deciding to break his own heart in a less permanent way by siding with a friendship he wanted to build, with James, because something about James was more assured of himself than Steve could ever be in this strange time he was thrust in. 

Something about him screamed “good” even though his hands committed more violence than any human being still alive, in the past seventy years. James wasn't to blame, Steve’s gut told him that the moment he saw the man, metal arm trapped under a heavy-duty press and a willingness to die for the greater good that Steve felt he lacked at the time of his confusion with his own ideals. 

He clung to who he was lead to believe was Bucky and lost himself in the wake of a war over things he didn't want to understand because the Machine turned less human than he ever thought possible without mass-riots and Tony was part-machine himself, in more ways than Steve could forgive, at the time. 

And then the Machine tried to strip him of his freedom, of his Bucky - God, he would never let that happen, he would rather-

He didn't kill Tony. He just killed the fragile friendship they had growing between them since New York and that crazy suicide mission that reminded Steve to look beyond the spat out words at the ones left unspoken. 

But Bucky was dead as well, and Steve was alone again. He tossed the remains of three punching bags he destroyed, finding that he couldn't tell the mirror he’ll be okay again. 

~

He caught the apple Tony threw at him, and dropped it immediately after to examine his new arm. 

“It’s.. you.. Tony,” he said, voice watery and disbelieving at what he’d just seen himself do, what he _felt_ , after seventy years of not having an arm, he could feel with his left hand and all thanks to the man that was now going over the rapid bursts of data that popped up on the holo screen every time James moved the arm or even thought of doing it. 

And he couldn't yet get over the fact that the arm acted on his own instinct, just as fluidly as his flesh one would’ve, and right now he felt equally cold on both arms in his wife beater, and barely believed it was real life. 

Tony handed James a large hoodie and explained him in short how to control the input his arm was giving him at all times now, from temperature to the pressure needed to break the chair he was now sitting up on. 

(It proved useful not only in battle but also in spouts of panic rising in his chest, to tap against the arm and focus on the data it sent to his brain, over and over until his lungs obeyed him again, and he might’ve doubted Tony’s intentions before he realized that Tony even thought about anxiety relief while building the world’s most advanced prosthetic limb. Maybe, he did it out of the goodness of his heart, just maybe, he still had parts of it to give out for free.)

After an hour more of running tests with dr. Cho, who avoided looking at his eyes the whole time, and looked incredibly sad when he thanked her by saying he didn't know how it felt not to feel pain all the time, he was good to go and find Tony in Bruce’s garden again, laying in the grass. 

“The arm is incredible, Tony. Thank you.”

Tony didn't flinch this time, only nodded sluggishly and let his eyes fall shut. James had no idea how long the surgery lasted or how much longer has it probably been since Tony last slept, due to the surgery being postponed for a few more days of fine-tuning that only James deemed unnecessary. 

His eyes skimmed over the man’s face, washed in the light of the setting sun that Bruce allowed into the garden through now see-through heptagonal glass panels, covering the creaks and lines and dark circles around his eyes that usually drew James’ attention. 

Now, all that was presented to him was a face untouched by the stress he knew Tony lived with all the time, a mop of hair that always smelled incredible when pressed against James’ chest, and a small smile that curled his lips the moment he fell asleep with the soft fairy grass his bed.

Fragile, was the word he never thought would fit as Tony’s trait, but he looked it and something softer just underneath the surface that James couldn't quite reach without drowning in the process, at least not for now, he hoped. 

He’d stay seated next to his sleeping genius and admire the last minutes of daylight dying in face of night but Tony was probably uncomfortable and too exhausted to mind it, so James opted for another test of his new arm that he subconsciously imagined playing out under different circumstances. 

He slipped the metal arm beneath Tony’s back and linked the other around his knees, picking him up bridal style and smiling when the side of Tony’s face fell to his chest. 

Thirty-six point three degrees celsius, a borderline worryingly weak heart rate, a force of four thousand newtons needed to crush his ribcage in - Tony was fragile, and it really was an anomaly, the fact that he didn't break yet after everything that happened to him. 

He had no serum making him invincible or covering the tracks for every backstabbing, torture method or villain he had to encounter. No net in the form of a beloved national hero to catch him when he fell, and he did, many times. But he still kept trying to bring peace to the only world they had, whether he’d get to live to enjoy it or not. 

Something about Tony made James feel hopeful for his own ablution, and maybe he’d feel more wistful if he wasn't carrying an armful of the universe itself asleep in his arms.  
Tony’s eyes fluttered open when the elevator reached his floor, and in the soft amber staring at him in wonder did James find the love he thought he’d never feel again, his grip on Tony’s shoulder tightening a little at the sudden epiphany. 

“Where are you taking me?” 

“To bed,” he whispered back, and lowered him on the sheets a minute later. The arm whirred softly as the plates shifted, slotting in place just as fluidly and they both stared at it as it did. 

“Did you talk to Steve about me?”

James flexed the arm again, fingers trailing behind the wave of moving plates. 

“Not about you,” and Tony nodded, suddenly looking a bit more afraid than James would expect Tony to allow himself to, usually. 

“Could you, stay? Uh, here, anywhere in the room, if it’s not a problem,” he rambled, and James feared he’d be too alert to fall asleep by the time he finished his rant, so he interrupted. 

“Did Steve say something to you?” and it sounded a bit more ferral than he intended it to, but the Other guy was reeling within him at the words. 

“No, no, it’s just, Stephen is in some other realm and FRIDAY isn’t completely magic-proof yet and I don't know what to - “

“I’ll stay, Tony.”

He picked up a book from the nightstand, _And Quiet Flows the Don, of course Tony would be reading this now,_ and smiled as he rested against the bedhead with the book he knew by heart in hands. 

James spared a glance to his left, where Tony was asleep mere centimeters away, and feeling the warmth radiating off of him on his metal arm was a feature James was most grateful for, so far. 

Halfway through the second book, he realized that Tony trusted him to protect him, enough to fall asleep soundly next to The Winter Soldier in his full element, and it shook him to the core, the overwhelming gratitude he felt at the undeserved gesture that assured James that he was more human than he allowed himself to feel. 

The arm, he realized, was intricate and took that long to make, because Tony wasn’t only dimming his guilt or making sure James would be useful in a fight. The touch, the feeling in his arm wasn’t something HYDRA would ever allow and therefore make him reluctant in using the arm in fights and as a blunt object rather than a functioning limb. It was an arm, made for a human, not a weapon. 

The fact that Tony thought James deserved it, free of charge or any sort of pay, was enough to make tears well up and blurr his vision. 

He looked at Tony’s serene features, admiration overwhelming him as he promised himself he’d keep the man safe for however long Tony asked of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> je suis in love w russian lit, if yall couldn't tell. _and quiet flows the don_ is one of my favorites, and relevant to the cw since it talks about war, loss.jpg and love intertwined. queen of intertextuality, i know 
> 
> hope yall liked it,! ill probs update milk & honey too since my rt got cancelled, so look out for that later 2night
> 
> also, added a bit of steve since i wanted to explain why he was seemingly impassive in face of bucky assaulting red waluigi
> 
> take care, & lmk what you think of the chapter!


	8. over seas, across the lands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its been ages damn. enjoy this side plot slash character study lmao

It was hard to believe he had a fully functioning arm now, not the weapon or the temporary one he wasn’t allowed to carry outside of Wakanda, not a collar, not a contract to bind him to anything - just an arm. Its purpose was in James’ hands alone, and it felt weird to be free, at least bodily, unusual.

It took a day or two to get used to the data readings of temperature, humidity and pressure of any room he was in, but then again, it served a marvelous purpose when he grabbed the witch’s armand knew exactly just how harder he needed to squeeze to render her hand immobile.

He smiled a parting, bitter smile into his coffee - there was no Bucky left within him, just this - amoral, apathetic - self, and the sense of being free from every construct that’s been forced upon him since Bucky died and shaped his behaviour or, decisions, when he was finally allowed to make them.

James was not a binary person, at all. He wasn’t a sociopath - Tony’s therapist was sure of it, and even though James was good at faking a mindset, he wasn’t faking anything in those sessions, for his own sake. He felt the need to apologize to Tony for killing his parents, for Siberia, he felt guilty over it, felt the need to suffer the consequences which was not something a psychopath could ever feel or properly act out, he was assured. Still, he wasn’t necessarily a good person either - he didn’t feel guilty over crushing Clint’s wrists in, he didn’t feel sympathy for Steve when he told him how his friend was dead for decades and how he shamelessly seized the opportunity in a form of a perfect fake personality handed to him on a silver platter. James was in between, not willing to kill with a lack of higher purpose to it, but not willing to back down from that same action if it meant he’d protect some values he happened to care about in that exact moment.

But what, or rather, who, did he care about?

Sense of patriotism was lost upon him, somewhere between spending the last century fighting for ideals that weren’t his own, he felt like he didn’t belong anywhere, though Russian was, for some reason he didn’t want to break down, easier on his tongue than any other language.

His diary was in Russian, he realized that only when Steve asked about it, pain in his eyes noticeable from across the room, back in the royal villa that served as their accomodation during exile. James only asked him why he was reading _Bucky’s_ personal thoughts, and Steve had the decency to blush and forget the question he got the answer to a few days ago.

James was neither American, nor Russian, nor German. He was just, here, existing even though he should’ve died back then when he was still Bucky, when he still believed he was doing the world a favor by living still.

So.

Who did he care about?

Tony came to mind, Tony, and his friends - the wakandan royals, the kids that he was a second father to, his patchwork family a world James wanted part in, and got it by asking for a room in the Right Wing and getting it, got it by apologizing to Tony and treating him like a good person he was, by doing the basic minimum - it was painfully easy to earn Tony’s care, and painful to care for him in turn.

James didn’t need to break out red string and news clips to confirm that there was more to Tony than his PTSD and a weird (or just moral) sense of responsibility for every living being on the face of the Earth, which was getting on James’ nerves lately. He understood that Tony was half good and half paying for his mistakes he still felt guilty over, and probably would for the rest of his life, but it was, annoying as fuck once James realized that a grand romantic gesture in Tony’s case would probably look more like solving some humanitarian crisis than bringing him flowers or running him a bath after a long day-

And it wasn’t just that his obsessing over solving and fixing everything ever was making everything and everyone else a secondary priority - James wasn’t about to be jealous of the fucking Earth itself - it was an even bigger issue that his own well-being was a tertiary priority which was not ideal or helpful to James’ case of feeling indebted to Tony, or the feelings of a more private nature he nurtured for the man.

In short, Tony would always put his own health, sanity or life just as easily on the line, if it meant he would spare the humanity and the few people he loved still a scar or two.

And it annoyed the fuck out of James, so much that his last two therapy sessions with dr. Ali were centered around Tony and ways in which James could care for him without imposing too much.

That led to him standing in front of the workshop at four in the morning with a liter of scalding black coffee and two business class plane tickets to Italy.

He coaxed Tony into showering and changing into clean clothes before he laid the news on him, which met the expected reluctance from the genius - though James was prepared for it and easily slipped into the guilt-tripping territory which any other good person would avoid cause it only added more guilt on Tony’s shoulders but this was for the best and James could take hating himself a little more for the tired sigh that escaped Tony when he finally agreed to James’ supposed dying wish of visiting Italy now that he was a free man, and his “fear of going anywhere without someone he could trust to have his back or contain him if he turned Soldier for some reason” which was a laughable excuse and the reason why he ambushed Tony when he was most tired and most likely to be too lost in his mind to think things through. He did ask why they couldn’t just take the quinjet and James said how he wanted to keep everything as lowkey as possible when in reality he just didn’t want the rest of the people in the Compound, well, except for Virginia and Rhodes, to be informed of Iron Man’s absence. 

FRIDAY already had their clothes shipped to the “hotel”, James assured him, when in reality they were going on a well-overdue family visit that he had no business instigating, and probably never would if it wasn’t for his concern for Tony’s deteriorating health.

It took a few days of decrypting Tony’s financial data with FRIDAY’s blessing, to track down his mother’s side of family, and the Conti’s happened to have changed their last name from Adragna, hiding their nobility behind one of the most common italian surnames. Tony sent them gifts for Christmas and his aunt’s birthday, but when James contacted Sofia Conti, Tony’s niece, through FRIDAY’s secure line, she told him how Tony hasn’t visited since Maria died, and how they all understood but still missed him. When James laid out his plan, she only laughed sadly, saying how Tony was always more Maria’s son then Howard’s, and agreed to let the family in on the intervention. She jokingly warned him that _your tesoro has a crazy aunt, you know, prepare to share a room and all the details on how you stole her sweet Tonio’s heart,_ and he called her a jackass, knowing that Sofia and him will probably get along well when she laughed and hung up.

Rhodes and Virginia admired the initiative, and after promising them daily updates of Tony’s state to Rhodey and agreeing on a secure location tracker that Pepper attached to his arm to make sure there would be no foul play involved, he had their support as well as them convincing Tony that he is more needed wherever James was taking him, and how the Compound would be more calm with his crazy projects out of the picture for a few weeks.

They were already on the plane, about three hours after he gave the news to Tony who was the last to find out about the trip, and only then James was hit with the realization that he seriously broke the man’s trust by forcing him into facing his relatives- and it was too late now to turn back or to start wondering what Tony would have to say on all this, _well, fuck me then,_ he thought just when Tony’s head fell on his shoulder as he passed out from exhaustion.

Funny, how Tony trusted him enough to agree to cross the ocean with him, though he did have his new nanotech suit 0.4 seconds from forming any time he wanted it to, it was still more trust than anyone had in James and his intentions as far back as he remembered.

And here he was, using that, just like the Widow would, manipulating Tony, and even though he believed it was for Tony’s good and he had his best friends’ blessings, it was still something he only used on his targets before, which. Wasn’t the best feeling to have, eight kilometers above the ground and every minute passing being a minute closer to him losing Tony’s trust as easily as he got it.

He would’ve panicked again, if he weren’t concerned for their safety and anonymity if the plane had to make an emergency landing because of him. He focused all his senses on Tony, his soft breathing, his unique scent, his temple pressing against James’ arm, the same one he used to kill and maim hundreds.

He made peace with the fact that he did what everyone before him had done when it came to Tony - overlooked the fact that he had the right to know others’ intentions, the right to choose what he wanted to do based on information that ideally shouldn’t be false.

James spent the rest of the flight reading what was left of Sholokhov’s book, distracting himself from guilt that lurked at the back of his mind.

The drive from the airport was weirdly tense, but Tony didn’t comment on it. On any other day, James would crush him in a hug as he looked so disheveled and lost from being woken up from deep sleep - his hair a mess of black spikes that stuck out from his forehead, brown eyes a bit hazy and unfocused, and him staring at James, pouting unconsciously - but he chose to savor the sight of Tony with his guard down in front of him, on the backseat of the taxi that drove past the hotel James mentioned and kept driving deep into Tuscany’s countryside, stopping in front of the huge property that James recognized from the picture Sofia sent him a few hours ago.

“Gracie,” he said to the driver and paid him off before joining Tony who was now standing in front of the gate, an unreadable expression on his face when he turned to look at James, this time with clear eyes burning into his own.

“What the fuck, James.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bucko: shit i wonder whats gonna happen  
> bucko: oh thank God its just a cliffhanger
> 
> //
> 
> lmao sorry. i had to. ive taken many liberties in writing tony's italian fam,, i have zero regrets. my boy deserves family love idc
> 
> leave comments and so and so
> 
> ly all  
> ,, mer <3

**Author's Note:**

> hmu on tumblr or in the comments if you want more of this fic! ill make it as slow burn as possible cause we're marvel fans and torturing ourselves is our favorite pass time.
> 
> constructive criticism always appreciated!


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